


A King and a Queen

by deathwailart



Series: Aedan Cousland [7]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Family, Grey Wardens, Marriage, Married Life, Motherhood, ruling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from A King and a Queen by Okkervil River</p>
    </blockquote>





	A King and a Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Title from A King and a Queen by Okkervil River

They tut of course. They whisper and gossip in a manner that is beneath them, the petty sort of intrigues many quickly associate with fishwives and old busybodies but nobles truly are the worst of the lot, casting their eyes at her as she walks the halls of Denerim's palace with her hair in the fashion of a noble wife once more, the pinned braids that send needles of agony rippling through her scalp if she moves her head too quickly. Perhaps that is the reason they are done, to make sure she is demure and meek. But always she walks with head held high, shoulders back (a touch too broad for their tastes but Rowan had been a true warrior too fighting with Maric the Saviour and so she pays them no heed, the way her father taught) with an air of quiet authority, Erlina following her. The words follow her everywhere to the point that she wonders if they'd be happier if she had been expecting Cailan's child, another golden Theirin to ascend to the throne with no father or if they'd rather she married Alistair. How could she marry Alistair? Perhaps they could have made it work - due to the association with her husband and the Wardens Alistair is often a visitor and a guest, drilling with the soldiers in the yard and they do talk, as stilted and awkward as it may be - but it would never have been fair to either of them. Alistair reminds her so much of Cailan, enough so that it manages to send lances of pain through her, Cailan who had been her companion since she had first gone to Denerim, her golden fool who wanted to be the hero, who wanted to live up to his father and grandmother only to die through betrayal and folly. Anora knew that he was not always faithful but as queen she was to turn a blind eye, to rise above it all and instead concern herself with bitter teas and invasive hands, patronising prayers as she failed to produce any heir.  
  
At least the Couslands are well respected, even more so now thanks to the last of the Couslands (only not quite, Fergus survived but he is in Highever trying to rebuild) leading the charge against the Darkspawn, a dashing young man of superb breeding; that phrase still makes her want to laugh, it makes him sound like a horse or the Mabari that is never far from his side. He was honest in their dealings and she will admit that even in her grief there was something compelling about him, tall and handsome, blunt but not lacking in tact - so different to Cailan. So the Theirin bloodline ended with their marriage but Anora was always the one making the decisions in Ferelden when Cailan liked to do what he thought a king should which was seldom what a king truly had to do. Aedan has good ideas but his priority in the aftermath of the Blight ending is in missives to Highever and Amaranthine, helping to organise what is needed for rebuilding efforts and for many nights after the wedding night the new rulers (her in name at least, Anora Cousland, not Theirin, not Mac Tir) sit up until late in the night with parchments and quills, candles burning down to stubs with a Mabari snoring. She is still in mourning for her last husband, Aedan for all his family save his brother and it fits the mood - the wedding lifts spirits and distracts the people for a moment from the horror that is still ravaging their lands. Aedan's eyes are still full of shadows and he wakes fitfully the few times he falls asleep to the point that she corners Alistair on it. It's hard for her to see him as someone other than the man who took her father's life - daughters always see their fathers as a hero if they were good to him and she is every inch her father's daughter, willing to do what she must to guide and protect Ferelden - but he and her husband are good friends, leading the Wardens from the ruins of Ostagar and now onto a new strength. Or at least that's what she can tell when her husband asks her opinion on how best to make repairs and from when he offers some insight on what might help the people with their own efforts.  
  
(It is a more balanced marriage already than the one she and Cailan had. But the Couslands were ever practical with children who were raised to think about the good of the people and what their duty must be. It is refreshing in the utmost to have someone who understands her decisions but has informed opinions of his own at times and the thrill of debating with him almost rivals the times that they do collapse into bed together. Or when he locks the study door with his hound guarding it, acting as though they're unruly students and not a Queen and Prince Consort.  
  
The rumours of Grey Warden stamina were hardly exaggerated. If anything, they have been downplayed severely but that is one oversight she is happy to keep to herself.)  
  
"It's...look you never heard this from me but it's a Warden thing, the nightmares. They should stop soon enough but he _did_ look an Archdemon in the eye," he explains with a sad smile that makes him look so much older and wiser than normal, "we both lost people we cared for. We never talked much about that part but it'll take time. I think it's good he keeps busy, that's what I'm doing I don't..."  
  
"I'm sorry," she says quickly and means it, "thank you, I wasn't sure how best to approach him on the subject."  
  
"Maybe he doesn't think it's the sort of thing other people should know, that sort of horror has a way of staying with you even when it's just the stories and not what you've seen. Or smelled."  
  
"I am not some fragile maiden!" It probably isn't fair to snap at him but she wants to know why her husband looks so haunted or wakes in cold sweats the few times they manage to share a bed and not a study because she feels useless, only able to stroke his brow until he falls asleep once more.  
  
"I didn't mean it like that I mean, well, he's noble, I don't know how he was brought up but he might think it's rude or that you saw enough...I'm sorry, just talk to him."  
  
She feels some sympathy as Alistair hurries off, no doubt to round up the dwarf that's been drinking things in the cellar that have been there for perhaps a century. But it's something to go on, a way to broach a painful subject, with grace, with tact, with her silk over steel manner of ruling when she must and over days and weeks as life begins to return to normal she asks. She reminds him of her strength and in doing so tells him of her life which prompts smiles.  
  
"Must get it from my father, a love of battle maidens," he jokes later when she puts forth a similar argument but his eyes and smile are honest and she could almost flush like a girl. Noble ladies are not meant to be warriors but she remembers tales of Eleanor Cousland who was as at home in armour and twin blades strapped to her back as she was in all her elegant gowns. It sometimes makes her wonder she might have been like should she have been raised by such a woman or even in a different time, taking up arms in a time of strife but she dismisses such thoughts. There are things she would change if she had the power but as she does not, she refuses to dwell on them instead honouring the dead by living and placing bundles of wildflowers on their graves as she silently prays that they are at the Maker's side at peace. One day she will see them again she knows and now she has reasons to live.  
  
"It has been a long time since I was able to spar or to train, when I was younger I practiced every day, I never played much with other children." Too imperious, Anora Mac Tir, acting as though she were already their queen with Cailan following her like a besotted pup.  
  
"A queen should always be an example to her people," Aedan replies with a look that is assessing, as if sizing her up and she forces herself to hold his gaze until he is done. "Those who do not arm themselves are not immune to dying by the sword or the arrow and when I go to Amaranthine then I would rather know that my wife can slit the throat of any who would dare to raise a blade with murderous intent in mind."  
  
"Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?"  
  
"I can arrange for a private session, just you and I and some targets, nothing too strenuous, we'll leave that for after shall we?"  
  
Days later a wickedly sharp dagger awaits her with a note.  
  
_As per your discussion with your husband, one wicked blade to be hidden on your lovely person, sharp and deadly. Less decorative than what is worn by Antivan royalty but I have come to understand much of your ways._  
  
Yours, Zev  
  
Not a day passes where she does not have the dagger strapped to her thigh and whenever they share a bed (which is often, the matter of having an heir important to both of them) she instructs her maid to leave it on. Aedan has a wolfish smile whenever he unbuckles the leather sheath fastened around her thigh and she likes the feel of it during the day, moving so that only if one cares to look - which one should not as it casts them in an unfavourable light to be seen staring intently at the queen's thigh. She joins him some days in the practice yard, honing her skills once more until her shoulders ache sweetly from the hours she can spend with her bow and sword. She will be no Moira or Rowan but she will be something, she will be the same mother to their child (Maker, Andraste _please_ let her finally have an heir, let her not be known as the barren queen for that is all she will be remembered for, marriage and heirs) as Eleanor was to her sons.  
  
Months pass. Ferelden rebuilds, her husband, satisfied with his courtly duties, returns to take up his title with the Grey Wardens. He complains, mostly in jest, about all his titles. Warden-Commander, Hero of Ferelden, Prince Consort and still Grey Warden complaining that Anora is the only one who remembers his name most of the time but she knows and he knows that no one else could have taken on such a burden and succeeded. During those months Anora has choked down bitter herbs and altered her diet, superstitions playing a part when Aedan confesses things about Grey Wardens and their taint that none should know of, that he might have made it more difficult as he says that he wants children too. For the first time she gets to inflict bitter teas on her husband, laughing with relish at his expression when he drinks them. When Aedan returns to the Wardens she still bleeds but both of them are still stressed, still busy but the whispers begin anew so she makes it a tradition to ride to Amaranthine to visit and to help him with his nightmares and Aedan comes back when needed for formal events more in his capacity as hero than prince consort but he spends the night in her bed. Aedan is blunt with her about one thing - that there was an apostate who has disappeared now perhaps forever that saved his life through a ritual, that he loved her as much as either of them could love at that point but that he takes vows seriously. There will be no whores, no mistresses, only his wife and that he was raised to be an honourable and decent man by his father. The sense of relief is palpable even if it's baffling but her father was loyal to her mother unless Ferelden can be counted as a mistress and if a country can then the Wardens can.  
  
At last though, three years after the Blight ends with Ferelden rebuilt she fails to bleed. She feels a rush of hope but it could be nothing and carries on as normal. She feels sick but Erlina (of course she doesn't even have to tell Erlina, Erlina knows her well and helps to cover for her so no one will notice) brings her ginger tea and arranges the schedule so that the early morning meetings are moved to later to allow her time to be sick before she has to go through her morning routine. When she fails to bleed a second month and when there are other signs, slight changes in her body, flushes across her cheeks she at last tells healers and the revered mother but swears them to secrecy until they are all more sure of whether or not her body can bear the child. Still it is a triumph; she is not barren, she and her Grey Warden husband can conceive and with that in mind she sends a raven to Vigil's Keep to announce that she will be making a visit, her hand on her belly the whole trip in the carriage, a secretive smile on her face.  
  
"It's not right is it," he says in the night as they lie with his hands over her belly, still flat at the moment, an endless litany of prayers occupying her every other thought that hopefully this will be it, "to saddle children with the names of those lost to us."  
  
"Thinking of your family?" She asks it gently because Maker she knows how much it hurts to lose her family but she cannot imagine how it would be to lose them to such a betrayal, slaughtered in your home, even an innocent child put to the sword.  
  
"I always think about them. It seems selfish sometimes when I think everyone lost a loved during the Blight but they were only feet from me, slaughtered by men who I had shared food and drink with - I even joked with Howe," as ever that name is spat out like the vilest curse, "about marrying his daughter Delilah and then he lets his men slaughter everyone in my home."  
  
One of her hands finds his in the darkness and squeezes. "There is never an easy way to lose someone unless they are old and have lived a full life. My mother died of a sickness much as Cailan's did; we all know how Cailan died and my father..."  
  
"I met him when I was younger, I used to be told stories of the Hero of River Dane, it brought me no pleasure in any part and I could not take his life," Aedan begins, a conversation they have had many times that she draws to a halt with a kiss, pulling the covers further about them; Amaranthine is freezing despite best attempts to heat it and Aedan likes to tell her stories of the Chasind or huddling together for warmth, missing his Mabari he says - enough that he often thinks he should snuggle together with Alistair again. (It takes her a week to be able to look at Alistair without feeling her lips wanting to quirk into a smirk.) Aedan says it's a sign though, that his Mabari is off siring good strong pups and that Anora should finally be pregnant herself, such early days though that only he, Erlina, the healer and the revered mother know of her situation.  
  
"This child will get a name that is their own," she decides (decrees, he says that she has a voice that brooks no argument or dissent and that it does unspeakable things to him) curling closer to Aedan. "Named not for parents returned to the Maker or others bound by blood or marriage or duty."  
  
"You'll have to be in charge of naming then, I called my Mabari Rabbit after all."  
  
(This is all hours after she told him. His face lit up like a small boy, he whooped in delight and - carefully - he picked her up and spun her until she smacked his shoulders telling him she was nauseous. He dropped to his knees then, bent his head against her belly and she held him there, unable to believe that this could be real, that she will produce an heir to the throne and silence them once and for all.  
  
After all, so much can go wrong.)  
  
With shawls and gowns she disguises her condition as best she can but the beady eyed gossips talk, the women, not the men because the men don't know how to read the little signs that something is different. No dark gowns for a few days a month, instead a glow about her, more care with what she eats and never any wine or if she must it is watered to the point it can scarcely still be called wine. The maids whisper about there being no rags until finally she must announce that there is to be an heir lest it descend into farce, Aedan galloping back to be at her side, resplendent in courtly garments even if she much prefers him in Warden blue, beaming not like a prince consort or hero but as a proud father-to-be with a hand at the small of her back as they announce it to the court to applause and tears.  
  
"I promised Alistair he'd get to be an uncle," Aedan whispers in her ear and she subtly elbows him but without malice; somehow she can picture Alistair being good with children, gentle. Perhaps he'll find himself a nice girl and have children of his own one day but that reminds her of Cailan even if reminders are much fewer these days, the memories put away. Every noble comes forward soon, already intent on marrying this unborn child to their son or daughter until Aedan pretends to look at her with alarm. "If you will excuse us, I think we all know how important rest is for an expectant mother - I fear the heir is already making demands as if he rules us already!" It prompts a laugh and she would complain but her feet ache and she _is_ exhausted so she goes without fuss or fight to her bed, stroking Aedan's hair as he whispers to their child, telling him of all the family who have made him what he is, how lucky they all are to be in such a position. He tells stories, lips against her skin as their child moves and squirms within her, of Grey Wardens and golden kings, of heroes and rebels, of little boys and swords. It's rare that either of them cry but he does when he speaks of his nephew and father and _oh Cailan_ she thinks when golden kings are spoken of because he is always respectful of Cailan because Cailan was his king and the Couslands loyal to the crown. Anora likes to imagine that she would have been surrounded by family if they all still lived (not her mother, she cannot picture her mother for she has been ash too long now) with their weapons, her father proud with a hand upon her shoulder, Teyrn and Teyrna Cousland at either side telling stories of their little boys when they were still small.  
  
Business drags Aedan away to Vigil's Keep but Rabbit is free of his duties and he haunts Anora's every step, her silent protector and she is glad of it. A Mabari is fierce and knowing and she cannot fight with her belly so big and the dog would die for her, her husband or her child - she'll need to get one for their child, one sired by this dog, perhaps a Mabari bitch, an even fiercer protector for her master is _hers_ , her charge and her pup when time calls for it.  
  
"A sign, my queen," many simper.  "A good sign."  
  
These whispers are better than any that have come before. A golden age for Ferelden, peace and safety, rebuilding it to be better than before with rulers who are devoted to the safety and protection of the realm.

* * *

  
Even heroes, even prince consorts are banned from the birthing bed when the time comes after long months where it seemed a dream too good to be true but Anora will only feel safe when her child is in her arms. Above the instructions of the midwives she can hear Aedan ranting and pacing and Rabbit howling plaintively - the palace might as well be a barn but she has more important concerns, when to push, when to breathe, single-minded determination to bring her child into the world. She screams and no one is a queen when it is a time like this, she is only a mother very soon to be, anxious for her baby and ready for the ordeal to be over with. One last push and she collapses, soaked with sweat right through, Erlina mopping her brow and her child screaming and squalling is the most beautiful sound she has ever heard.  
  
"A son your majesty!" The midwife announces, sounding near tears herself and Anora loses her composure, abandons all the rules for how noble ladies are meant to raise their children and holds her arms out as her baby, her son, is placed in her arms, still streaked with blood as they begin to clean up (Aedan is no doubt losing his mind and perhaps preparing to lay siege to the room by now) with her beautiful son nestled in her arms, his cries shrill as she hushes him.  
  
"Hello darling, I have waited such a long time for you," she croons, kissing his brow, his tiny nose, inspecting fingers and toes and every inch of him as he snuffles into her, calming, sobs now stuttering hiccup noises as she rocks him until she is forced to hand him over so that the bed may be changed. The wet-nurse is waiting as someone goes to talk to Aedan (later he will confess how frantic he was, how he would sooner face down the entirety of the Darkspawn and the Archdemon rather than wait outside her room, useless and unwanted awaiting the birth of their child) because Maker forbid that a man sees his wife in a state but she supposes that they want some perfect image of the queen in her bed with a contented child in her arms as her husband sits next to her looking down with pride. The bath is heavenly but all she wants is her son, she never wants to let him out of her sight, wants to memorise all the details and feel a chubby fist clinging on to her finger and as soon as she is settled in a freshly made bed her arms are ready to hold her son again. He's cleaner now, swaddled tightly in soft blankets, yawning as Aedan is let in, Rabbit told to stay and guard the door for intruders and nosy pests, almost tripping over his feet in his haste to get to the bed.  
  
"Our son," he croaks, voice rough with emotion as he takes a seat on the bed, kissing her and then his son as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. Erlina ushers the stragglers out leaving them alone, the queen, the prince consort and the heir to throne and with the shutting of the door Aedan finally breaks down, no loud sobs but still tears and he wipes his face, shaking his head. "Maker why am I crying," he mutters to himself.  
  
"Every father should cry with pride and joy when his child is born," she answers and offers their son to him. Aedan's hands are built for holding swords and shields and bows, for killing Darkspawn or anyone fool enough to stand in his way or threaten, her, his friends and family or the people of Ferelden but they know how to hold a child (he was a much younger man when Oren was born, she knows, but it seems he still remembers what he must do and how) and he kisses his son, grinning.  
  
"I think you have to pinch me Anora, I've been carried off to the Fade," he says as he laughs, careful not to wake his son as a flailing fist emerges from the blanket to grab a finger offered. "Ah, no surprise that he has a swordsman's grip already, barely an hour hold and he has a firmer handshake than most of the lords at the Landsmeet." Anora laughs and swats him carefully as she takes their son back. "I'm so proud of you, I...I never thought I would have a family again after the sack but you've given me a home again. I don't say it often enough but I love you, truly."  
  
"I love you too," she replies and she means it. They might not have started out as anything more than a strong alliance to defeat the Blight and rebuild a country but through all of that they've grown and she knows and is proud to say that she loves him. Aedan is a good man and that matters more where it counts than being a good ruler or leader though even now she would never say such a thing. "You'll be a wonderful father."  
  
"And you a wonderful mother. Not just strong and handsome but he'll be smart and shrewd, the things that keep you alive where skill fails."  
  
"Enough of that, he doesn't have a name yet."  
  
"None of what we agreed on seems to fit now that I look at him, oh for the love of Andraste, Fergus was right when he told me about that."  
  
"I think, dear husband, that can wait until morning. I am in desperate need of sleep and I'm sure he'll be content for a few hours."  
  
Aedan catches on quickly and takes their son in his arms once more but not before he pulls her into a kiss or as close an approximation as he can manage seeing as he can't stop smiling for two seconds, helping her to get comfortable beneath the covers. His sword rests by the side of the bed and she hears the door open and whispered words from owner to dog and then the bed dips as Rabbit curls up at the foot of the bed. The very picture of how Ferelden royalty should be, mother and child, queen and prince, the symbol from their coat of arms upon the bed. She'd like another one she thinks, another son after the stories of Fergus and Aedan and how it was like raising a pack of small boys combined with Bryce Cousland. A daughter too, a little princess to be taught as Anora was, a consummate ruler and even if she's the youngest she will no doubt rule her brothers. It's with those happy thoughts that she falls asleep into pleasant dreams, waking to dress and bathe and present the heir to Ferelden's throne to the Landsmeet to rapturous applause. Later, alone with her son she presses her lips to his forehead the way his father did to her belly and tells him of how proud all those watching from the Maker's side are and that his is the blood of heroes and soldiers who look death in the eye and force it to surrender and his little hand grabs her finger and squeezes.  
  
He understands, how could he not? Any child of hers was bound to be given her intelligence.


End file.
